Paths Her Lips Have Led Her
by Tarafina
Summary: Reflecting on her former loves and the one she has now, Chloe knew what each of them would mean in her life simply by a kiss shared. :Chloe/Dean:


**Title**: Paths Her Lips Have Led Her  
**Category**: Smallville/Supernatural (Crossover)  
**Rating**: T  
**Genre**: Romance/Drama  
**Pairing**: Chloe/Dean  
**Prompt**: #3 - Kisses  
**Word Count**: 2,367  
**Summary**: Reflecting on her former loves and the one she has now, Chloe knew what each of them would mean in her life simply by a kiss shared.

**_Paths Her Lips Have Led Her  
_**-1/1-

Pressed up against the wall, legs wrapped around his waist, chest desperately aching for air, Chloe found herself thinking that these moments, these kisses shared in dank Motel rooms, a new one each week, were addictive. His mouth was hot against her own, a shade of whiskers rubbing her face with each slant of his lips. While beards weren't his thing (thank God), some days he'd forget or not care and when he was kissing various other parts of her, she loved the coarse feel of the whiskers against her skin; along the insides of her thighs, his chin brushing her stomach, his cheeks between the valley of her breasts. His tongue met hers equally with each thrust and tangle and she melted once more, like she did every time his hands found her hips and he hauled her up against him. Another long day, another hard case, another victory for their side.

It'd been months, maybe years, since she felt another man's lips against hers. One day she woke up and realized that she was _with_ Dean and she didn't want it to change. She'd been looking for that permanent man for what seemed like forever, her eyes always set on a certain farmboy that was never really going to fill the open spot. And when she looked back now, she was glad he didn't. Clark was a wonderful man; he was deep and sensitive and he believed in justice like no other. But when she remembered what it felt like to kiss him, two words came to mind: soft and hesitant. It wasn't the same as how she kissed him; hers were full of passion and love and a deep sense of devotion. But he always seemed scared to hurt her, whether physically or emotionally, and that really wasn't the right place to start off a relationship she'd dreamed of since she was thirteen. So she let go of him and those dreams and she was happy now that he was with Lois, because the kisses he shared with her cousin were nowhere near soft or hesitant.

The thing about Dean was that he never held back. He didn't look at her with anything akin to hesitance or fear; when he grabbed her hips, his hands were calloused and instead of worrying that she might not like that, he used it to his advantage. He ran those rough palms over her sensitive skin until she was thrumming and pleading for him to put them somewhere else, to thrust those long fingers inside of her, to never _stop _touching her. She didn't want soft hands, she wanted _Dean_'s hands. And he knew that; he smirked every time. He wasn't afraid of hurting her, he knew how to touch her, where to touch her, and his fingers never fumbled. He was all passion, all the time, in everything he did. Work, play, the in between. And she loved that; loved him.

She remembered a time in her life when she was much younger, when she thought saying yes to Jimmy's proposal was the right thing to do. A new beginning, one where she let go of Clark and lived her own life. The problem was that while she loved Jimmy, she wasn't _in love _with him. She ignored that most of the time; convinced herself it was just cold feet. But there were these moments, and she realized later it was always when he was kissing her, that _they _just didn't seem to fit. He rather represented what she _wanted _for herself; a relatively normal life, with a husband and a future and a stable lifestyle. But she wasn't cut for that, not really. She wasn't cut for a Jimmy Olsen. When he kissed her it was sweet and tender and there were moments of passion where she could get lost in the _idea _of him and them and what they could be. But they were never enough, they left her wanting, left her feeling hollow, as if she was only filling the hole with what she could find, never really putting the right piece there.

_Chloe had taken up life on the road. She left the League in the capable hands of Oracle, she handed ISIS over to someone who had the time and energy and interest in helping out the meteor infected, she left Metropolis in her rear view mirror, along with her engagement. Jimmy was in the past, Clark and Lois were always a phone call away, but she needed to get away, needed to find herself and her path in life on her own. Because she'd had all these ideas and dreams and futures that she was making for herself, but they never turned out, never fulfilled her, and so she left... And eight months later, she walked into a not-so-chummy bar, spotted one far-too-handsome guy across the way smirking at her in an entirely too attractive way, and in the span of four seconds, was attacked. _

_Instinct told her it was the guy who'd been following her for the last two cities. She thanked her lucky stars that the life she lived didn't leave her so shocked she just let it happen. Instead, she slammed an elbow into her attacker's gut, swirled around, kneed him between the legs, head butted him, and had him sprawled on his back before he could think to fight back. She stood over him, chest heaving, and wondered how quickly Oliver would've recruited her to the League after seeing that. Instead of lingering, she grabbed a beer, dropped a few dollars on the bar and then walked back out to her car. Her stop was over -and apparently one stalker less- and she might as well continue on in town to find a motel to stay at._

_She wasn't even at her car before that handsome stranger from the bar was standing next to her. "Where'd you learn moves like that?" he asked, tone suspicious, accusatory._

_She turned to him, lifted a brow and cracked her beer open. "I must've missed the memo that said I was supposed to tell my life story to strangers..."_

_His lips twitched._

_"I'm sorry, my brother doesn't always think before he speaks." She turned to the tall man next to him, an apologetic smile on his lips. The term puppy came to mind; he looked like a lost, loveable puppy._

_She glanced back and forth between them. "That's fine," she said before turning to walk back to the car. She could hear them arguing back and forth under their breaths._

_"But, uh... We really were wondering were you picked up your training because it looked..." _

_"Professional," the handsome one stated, staring at her seriously._

_She lifted her chin. Where to start? She'd trained with Lois, who learned her moves from the General. She'd trained with Oliver and his team, who were always pushing her to her limits, until she was ready to gouge their eyes out with her office stationary. She was Watchtower; she never meant to get out in the field. But it came in handy, more than she liked to reflect on. "Maybe you two just had a few too many," she said, tipping her beer before opening her car door._

_"Sweetheart, it's gonna take a lot more than that to throw us off."_

_She frowned. "One, don't call me sweetheart. Two, I don't owe either of you any explanations. And three," She looked back at him. "Two hunters chasing after a retired investigative reporter..." She tisked. "Don't you have bigger fish to fry?"_

_Their expressions showed shock._

_She'd done her homework. Her weirdometer had always been directed toward Smallville, but upon going out on her own, she broadened her search and she found out more than she could've imagined. Now she didn't know these two by name, but their stance, their wary expressions, the on-the-road-and-ready-to-attack look could only be one of two things: they were either serial killer truckers or they were hunters. Since there were no semi's parked in front of the bar, and, well, she was getting the weird vibe, not the kill you and stuff you in the trunk feeling..._

_"Hunters," the shorter one laughed. "Not even deer season, swee-" He cut himself off, remembering and she found herself nearly smiling. "You got a name?"_

_"Yeah." She enjoyed making him work for it._

_He glanced at his brother, shaking his head with half-amusement, half-irritation. "And it would be...?"_

_"What? So you can Google me?" She shook her head. "Like I said, my life story is my own... You don't need to know it." She pulled her door open and tossed her purse inside._

_His brows rose. "You know drinking and driving is illegal."_

_She tossed her beer at him, not surprised when he caught it on instinct. She smiled, closed her door and then turned the key in the ignition. "Now why does someone like yourself reminding me about the law seem hypocritical?"_

_He rolled his eyes. "You don't even know what you got into it with in there, do you?"_

_"Does it matter?" She shrugged. "I won." She grinned. "You're welcome." She nodded at the bottle in his hand. "Have a beer on me." She put the car in reverse and leaned back, buckling herself in. "Happy hunting, boys." She pulled away, thought she'd never see them again, glanced back the rear view mirror and chuckled to herself. _

_Three days later, she opened the door to find them standing before her in the motel room she was renting. She wasn't dressed for company if the flannel pajama pants and MetU sweater were anything to go by._

_"Chloe Ann Sullivan - twenty three - spent five years in Smallville, a whole other world of weird - could write a whole encyclopedia selection on what happened there and how you were involved - went to Metropolis University," he motioned toward the sweater, "for journalism - started a career at the Daily Planet; Ace work on those obits, by the way - fired by Lex Luthor - worked at ISIS, a meteor-infected outreach service - then fell off the map almost a year ago..." His brows furrowed. "No background on how you might've learned those skills of yours though."_

_  
She crossed her arms over her chest. "Thanks for the history lesson, now if only you could explain why you're here, all of life's questions would be answered."_

_The taller one snorted. "People rarely surprise him," he explained, motioning to his brother. "And we were kinda curious. There aren't a lot of people out there who could deflect a demon attack so fluidly and walk away without a scratch on them."_

_She shrugged. "You saw my history; I'm good at getting out of sticky situations." She eyed them both. "I'm at a disadvantage here, you found me, license plates I'm sure, but I don't have names for either of you."_

_"I'm Sam and this is Dean."_

_She nodded. With a shrug, she sighed. "Sorry to break it to you, but I don't know what you came here looking for... I didn't know it was a demon, I reacted and that was it." _

_Dean and Sam glanced at each other, silent communication before they turned back to her._

_"What do you know about hunting?"_

And that's where it all started... Her new life, a path never walked, hidden behind the obvious ones that led nowhere. She knew now where she was meant to be. She spent a while as their stand-by researcher. Using her advanced skills in hacking, researching, and not-so-natural decoding with her mind on a whole new level compared to most, to help them with their cases. She often did so from abroad, while she continued on the road, they'd call her up, give her the details and she'd help them work it out. But then they ran into each other again and she was brought into a real hunt, where she found her element. And suddenly she wanted to be on the road, but with them, along side the fighting brothers.

Which brought her here, to now, being carried to the bed where Dean laid her own, pulling off her boots, tossing them away, yanking off her socks and then working her jeans down after she hastily unbuttoned them. And he began his journey of kisses that would start at her ankles and end at her mouth, covering every inch of her, followed by the rough fingers and hands of his that she loved so much. She planted her feet on the mattress, her knees up and parted, her head pillowed by her arms as she watched him, his mouth pressing against her ankle, eyes set heatedly on hers. She wiggled her hips side to side in anticipation, bit her lip, eyes narrowing, watching him keenly.

Sam was in the room next to theirs, the adjoined door always unlocked just to be safe. While he had adamantly fought for his own room, he was happy that they were together. After all this time (how long had it _really _been? She wondered again) he often referred to her as his sister-in-law and the fact that Dean never corrected him still made her grin. She was happy with her life; even if Lois and Clark still believed she belonged with them, back in Metropolis, following whatever path might seem logical at the time. But she couldn't explain it to them, not really. Because when it came down to it, the answers to her questions, the reason for her following this path, how she knew she was meant to be here with Dean, was in his _kiss_. How was she supposed to explain that to anyone? How was she supposed to put into words that when his lips met hers, she found _home_. She found passion and equality and exhilaration; danger and mystery and curiosity; love and permanence and family. So she assured her cousin and her big dumb alien best friend that she'd visit, that she'd always call, but she wasn't going back to Metropolis unless there was a hunt there. Her life was on the road, in dank motel rooms, wherever kissing Dean Winchester led her. And she wouldn't want it any other way.


End file.
